


To Control, To Protect, To Create

by VCCV



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Revealed, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: "Merlin awoke slowly. Last he recalled, he'd been with Arthur and the Knights, riding through mountains on the northern border. He couldn't remember falling asleep and, after so many years in Arthur's company, that usually meant he'd been knocked out. So, before opening his eyes, he took stock of himself. There was a dull ache wending its way through his guts, but nothing felt bruised or broken. There was the distinctive feel of chain surrounded his wrists and ankles, and he felt the cool press of stone against legs and spine. So, captured it was, then."





	To Control, To Protect, To Create

Merlin awoke slowly. Last he recalled, he'd been with Arthur and the Knights, riding through mountains on the northern border. He couldn't remember falling asleep and, after so many years in Arthur's company, that usually meant he'd been knocked out. So, before opening his eyes, he took stock of himself. There was a dull ache wending its way through his guts, but nothing felt bruised or broken. There was the distinctive feel of chain surrounded his wrists and ankles, and he felt the cool press of stone against legs and spine. So, captured it was, then. A general feeling of weakness was his only other issue. That concerned him more than did anything else. Should he require magic to free himself,--and when had he not?--he could feel it only moving sluggishly through his veins. 

Carefully, he opened his eyes. Above him, the sky was a bright blue, and he could see a random bird or two flitting past his vision. A slight turn of his head showed three of his party: Elyan, Percival and Leon, each stood against an impossibly tall column of stone, hands trapped behind their backs and rope wrapped several times around their torsos. They were conscious, unbruised and fully focused on something behind Merlin's head. Another slight turn to the other side showed Arthur, Gwaine and Lancelot, equally indisposed. As much as Merlin was pleased to see his friends safe, a special tightness released in his chest at the sight of his golden haired King glaring bloody murder at whatever lay beyond him.

"Ah, Emrys! You've awakened!" Merlin tried to tilt his head backward to see who spoke so cheerfully, yet had the King and his Knights in such an angry state. He found his head simply wouldn't bend that way against the stone below him and he was rather thankful when the speaker moved out from behind him, taking a place at his side. The man was short and plump, dressed in plain clothing and smiling with the power of the sun. Tattoos emerged from his sleeves and up the expanse of his neck. That, combined with the naming of Merlin as 'Emrys', and the inappropriately chirpy manner led Merlin to believe they'd had the misfortune of running into a powerful druid.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Merlin demanded. The little man chuckled and moved further downward to stand at Merlin's feet. As Merlin's eyes followed the man down the length of his own body, he couldn't help but notice that, in addition to the chains, Merlin was also nude. He flushed at the knowledge that he'd been laying in full view of the Knights—and Arthur--, starkers, for who knew how long.

"I am Fychan," he bowed deeply. "And I have been waiting for you, my King, for a very long time."

"If you've been waiting for me, why is it you answer none of my questions? Why is it my idiot manservant is the one chained to a slab of rock?" Arthur snapped. Merlin glanced over to Arthur to see that his belligerence had a tinge of desperation to it. A deep belly laugh from Fychan pulled his attention back to the druid, though.

"My apologies, Sire," he chuckled. "I meant, of course, _my_ King. Emrys, King of the Druids." Merlin felt his heart sink to his stomach. Not only were they clearly overpowered, then captured, but Merlin's magic was about to be awkwardly revealed. "Surely, Sire, you knew the value of your 'idiot manservant'?" Fychan gave a simpering laugh at the query. "Oh, but that's right. Until recently, Emrys didn't know if you'd burn or behead him for that knowledge. I did think, though, that you might have told him once Uther passed on," he added in a disapproving aside to Merlin. "How are you to rule Albion together if the man doesn't even know the honor bestowed on him by your remaining at his side?"

Arthur snorted. "Honor? Clearly you have not seen his shoddy attempts at service." Merlin flushed again. He knew he wasn't the best manservant, but he hated when Arthur shat all over his efforts in front of others. He was quite unprepared, however, for Fychan's smile to drop from his face, replaced by a thunderous glower, and for the smaller man to step into Arthur's space. The Druid grasped the King's jaw with a tight grip and jerked his head downward.

"It is saddening to see that no matter how many times my King has risked his life for you, for your Kingdom, you still have not the proper appreciation for him. You would be dead a dozen times over, young Pendragon, were it not for my King and his incomprehensible love for you. Personally, I do not see it in you: that which the prophecy states. No matter, I don't have to like you to have use for you." 

He threw the King's head back and retook his place at Merlin's feet, his smile returning as he gazed upon the boy. "My King, today is a glorious day! Today, you provide me with a great gift."

Merlin warily glanced from an angry and slightly bewildered Arthur, to the gleefully happy Fychan. "What gift would that be?"

"Why, today, you give to me a child."

Merlin frowned. "You are mistaken, druid. I will steal no child for you."

Fychan chuckled again. "Of course not, my King. No theft is required. I want a special child. I want _your_ child."

"Again, you are mistaken," Merlin shook his head against the rock. "I have sired no children. And you will stand there until you rot before you force me to breed one upon a woman for you."

"A woman? Oh, goodness no," Fychan clucked his tongue distastefully. "I want no part of a woman mucking about in my perfect child. I want the child of Emrys, King of the Druids, King of Magic—that's you, dear boy—and the child of the Once and Future King—that would be him." He nodded at Arthur and clapped his hands together.

Merlin felt his heart clench at that, and he couldn't quite hide the tinge of sorrow that flooded his next words. "That is not possible."

"Ah, my sweet, naïve little warlock," Fychan patted his foot. "Have you not yet discovered that all things are possible with magic? That is, in fact, why you are lying there, weakened, unable to summon your magic to free yourself. Your magic is currently busy, working on a small project for me."

"You can't control my magic," Merlin snorted derisively, trying to ignore the panicked voice in the back of his head screaming for him to _lielielie_ about his magic in front of Arthur.

"Of course not, my King," Fychan shook his head. "Nor I would have any wish to do so. I can, however, direct it in a manner that makes it most pleased; which is as I am doing. You see," he cleared his throat and tucked his thumbs into the folds of his tunic, taking on a lecturing stance Merlin was quite familiar with thanks to Gaius. "While magic is a tool, each person's magic is inclined to a different course. Much as some warriors use swords, and others use staves," he nodded to the Knights as he included them in his lecture. "I'm sure in your many interactions with magic users, you've noticed that they tend to follow only one, or perhaps a very few courses. Whilst you, my Lord Emrys, are able to follow all courses. However, the original course planned for you will always be strongest."

"And what course is that, pray tell?" Arthur interrupted. Fychan sent a truly masterful glare Arthur's way, though Merlin could have told him that Arthur had yet to meet the man who could intimidate him. He was a bit heartened, however to hear Arthur sound more angry with the druid than the talk of magic.

"As I was saying," Fychan continued, turning his attention back to Merlin, "Some may best use their magic for healing, some for destruction, some for the elements. I, myself, have quite the flair for controlling others. Mind control, body control, these are things that have always come easily to me. Hence, your easy capture and detainment!" He swept his arms out to encompass the six Knights tied to the pillars and Merlin himself, chained on his back. "It is a skill I mean to perfect while raising your child as my own," he added with a wink. 

"In your course, however, I have noted that you are consumed with creation and protection. Lovely enough, I'm sure, but rather self-defeating in that every spell you've ever cast can be related back to that. As powerful as you are, as you will be, one would expect at least a little bit of dabbling in destruction, or perhaps control of others. But even the deaths you've caused have been in the name of protection. Most of it, for that ungrateful King of yours," he looked sourly back at Arthur. "Rather short sighted of you, really. There's a whole world out there waiting for you to rule it, Emrys, and you're neglecting it for the love of one man." Merlin really wished he'd stop hitting that particular nail on the head. Magic-wielding, naked Merlin was bad enough; he certainly didn't need to add 'in love with the King' to his list of reasons Arthur would be slapping him upside his head.

Fychan sighed. "No matter. It simply leaves the way open for those of us with the fortitude to take it. Anyway, right now, your magic is busily preparing your body to house the child; giving you all the right bits, as it were. When the spell is done, you will have the appropriate womb in which to 'create' your new life, and the appropriate magic with which to 'protect' it. See? All very above board and in line with your original course. Truly, your magic was thrilled to help me, help you." He preened proudly.

Merlin gawped at Fychan, unsure if this story were ludicrous enough to be true. Knowing his luck, it was. He wanted to turn and glance at Arthur, but he was terrified to see the disgust on his King's face.

"You can play house with your King Arthur, Emrys," Fychan again patted Merlin's foot, a sly smile creasing his face. "You can pretend the child is truly a product of your love for him. You can make memories to hold close to you for the inevitable day that he marries and no longer has need of your companionship. Then when the time comes, nine months from now, you merely need make an incision, I will come collect my prize, and you can go back to serving your beloved King as you always have done. We are all winners."

With that, it seemed his explanations were over. He situated himself between Merlin's legs, placing his hands on the boy's belly, and looked to the sky. Merlin felt the tang of magic in the air and felt a slight tugging behind his navel as Fychan shouted, " _Ullmhú na broinne_!"

He watched in horrified curiosity as a shimmer of blue light began under his skin. The shimmer turned to lines racing down his limbs, coalescing under Fychan's hands at his belly. The lines blended and began to whirl like a dust demon Merlin had once seen in a newly plowed field. As Fychan pulled his hands away, the whirling lines became a swirling maelstrom and the first sharp pains appeared. 

At Merlin's unwitting yelp, Fychan shrugged, sheepishly. "Oh, yes, I forgot to warn you. This part? Probably a bit painful. We have to arrange your current organs around just a smidge to make room for the new ones. Do forgive me, won't you?"

Rearranging organs felt a lot like someone stirring his insides with a hot knife. He began to sweat as the heat from his midsection flooded through his body. He couldn't move away, but he could squirm, and that he did, endlessly arching from side to side, trying to curl protectively around himself, but prevented by the chains on his limbs. He tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum, biting his lip to hold in the sound. But as the pain escalated, and he couldn't keep his lips pressed closed any longer, he felt the coppery tang of blood and knew he'd bitten through. As the warm blood began to coat his tongue, he gave up the fight and let the inside pain out. He knew he'd gone beyond moans and groans, but didn't realize the tortured screams were coming from him until he heard them met by those of his friends. He heard his name yelled out, amidst threats of dismemberment and death. He could only hope those threats were toward Fychan, and not because of his own betrayals.

He badly wished just to pass out, but each time he tried to surrender to the darkness, his magic buzzed through his head, begging acknowledgement and shedding pride and joy like a living entity. It was only a moment after his voice gave out, and he'd resorted to soundless shrieks, that his magic finally began slowing its insane whirling. It came to a stop and, like a cresting wave, crashed back through his body, dispersing itself to all corners again. 

Merlin laid limp and helpless, panting and choking even as he felt hot tears spilling down his face. Fychan bustled up and began poking at Merlin's stomach. The slightest of touches caused Merlin a pained gasp, but when Fychan began pressing with firm strokes, Merlin couldn't help the agonized howl that erupted from his lips. To either side of him, he heard the Knights protesting the rough treatment, and Arthur in particular promising to snap Fychan's neck when free. Merlin was all for that, as the strokes turned to digging presses into the flesh of his belly.

"Now, now," Fychan tsked. "It's to be expected that you're still a bit tender," he added loudly, over the sounds of Merlin's distress. "You've just had your guts shoved aside and new ones created to fill their place. It's a bit cramped in there. But…" he gave one final press that had Merlin wondering if the flames of a pyre would be more comfortable, "…everything seems to be in place. Isn't that astounding?" 

He took his inspection further south and Merlin heard a gasp before his legs were rudely shoved apart. "Oh, Lady Magic, what wonders you have worked!" Merlin lifted his head to see Fychan staring intently, and with no small degree of amazement at what Merlin had thought to be his most private of places. Private no more, clearly, as Fychan pushed his legs even further apart and bent down to poke about. "She must love you a great deal, my young King. No incisions for her child; she has given you an actual birthing canal! This makes the sowing of your King's seed so much easier now. And one fewer spell I shall have to cast."

Merlin couldn't decide if he wanted to die of embarrassment or horror when Fychan quickly shoved two fat fingers inside his newly created canal. The pinch wasn't anywhere nearly as bad as the previous pain he'd endured, but he choked back a cry anyway, greatly disliking the intrusion of something foreign inserted into his body. "Oh, ho! King Arthur!" Fychan crowed. "An untouched virgin for you! What a special treat. Perhaps I should lay down the bridal sheets for future proof of his maidenhead!" He cackled a bit, amused at his own wit, and tugged his fingers free of Merlin's body. "No? Well, I think we have enough witnesses to prove the child will be yours."

"I will not rape my friend." Arthur's angry voice was a soothing balm on Merlin's rather frazzled nerves, even if the timbre of it were threatening.

"I think you'll find, my dear King, that a rephrasing is in order. You will not _want_ to rape your friend, but rape him you will. Now, Mother Magic waits for no man, King or no. _briseadh na ceangail_." The bindings holding Arthur to the column dropped to the ground, nearly depositing the man on his face as he had been straining forward. He caught himself and, even as he tensed to spring at the druid, the smaller man spoke again. " _Is é do chorp faoi mo smacht_." Arthur's spine snapped straight and he stood at attention, arms plastered to his sides, the only thing moving of his own volition were wild, angry eyes.

Fychan waved a hand and Arthur began marching forward determinedly. He came to a stop at Merlin's feet and did an about face, spinning to meet Merlin's terror-filled eyes with his own. "Good boy," Fychan praised. "Now, remove your armor and clothing. This spell in particular works best if both participants are skyclad." All could tell how hard Arthur fought the spell's influence. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as he pulled the chainmail shirt up and over his head. As he dumped the rest of his mail to the ground, Merlin could see his expression. He was reminded of hunt not long past, when Gwaine's horse had been caught unaware of a snake on the path. The horse had bucked and snorted and tossed its head, its eyes were then as huge and wild as Arthur's were now. 

"I'm trying," Arthur forced past gritted teeth. Merlin only nodded weakly, hoping against desperate odds that Arthur could work a miracle and throw off the mental shackles Fychan had placed on him. But, he knew that was highly unlikely. Arthur's movements were jerky and stilted, but continuous. There was no hesitation as he finished with his armor and moved on to his clothing. Merlin's heart sank as each piece fell onto the pile at his feet. When he was finally as nude as Merlin, he stepped over the pile and took his place between Merlin's opened thighs.

Merlin felt the hot sting of tears at his eyes again, and though he knew it was pointless, he couldn't help but to murmur, "No. Please, not like this." He regretted it immediately, for the look of agonized horror on Arthur's face was almost as bad as the pain of what he'd just endured.

"I can't…I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur managed, reaching out to grasp Merlin's hips. He gave a sharp tug and Merlin was scooted into position, his arms now stretched above his head. "Please…forgive me." A single tear trickled its way from the corner of Arthur's eye down his cheek. Merlin stared, transfixed on how it shimmered in the light. Arthur thrust forward, sheathing himself inside Merlin.

The pain was sharp, but quick, and Merlin only cried out once before falling into a miserable silence. The silence lasted for long minutes, only broken by the wet sounds of sex, Arthur's heavy breathing and Merlin's occasional whimper. When, at last, Arthur gave a guttural grunt and Merlin felt a rush of warmth inside his body, he closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side. He didn't watch as Arthur was jerked out of his body and thrown back to the column. He heard Fychan mutter the words to a binding spell, and knew Arthur was once again tied against the pillar. 

Fychan again appeared at his side, but only hovered his hands over Merlin's belly rather than touching him again. "Wonderful! The child is conceived. Nicely done, Emrys." Merlin opened his eyes just in time to see the druid's hand come down to stroke his head. Angrily, he jerked his head away and glared through the sheen of tears. Fychan clucked his tongue again and smiled sadly. "Poor little broken bird." With a last proprietary pat to Merlin's belly, he moved to inspect Arthur.

A cold rage filled Merlin's chest. He pulled on his magic instinctively, and when he felt it respond, felt its fierce joy at his call, he understood in his very soul that, instead of draining him, the creation of new life had filled his magic to the brim. It skittered down his arm and popped the lock on the chain with a happy fizzle. Teeth bared in an approximation of a smile, Merlin sat up and sent another wave down his other arm. That pop and fizzle caught Fychan's attention and he turned in surprise. 

"How did you do that?" His brow knit in a confused frown. "You shouldn't be able to use your magic yet."

As the shackles dropped off of his feet, Merlin sneered. "I don't really think you understand magic, for all of your studying. Yes, magic is a tool, but at the crux of it, she is alive. She loves life; she cherishes it and emulates it. She will destroy when asked because all is eventually destroyed to make way for new life. It's balance. But you were right, that creation, that protection are her favorites. And what you just did? The violation of me and Arthur? You just fed her."

Fychan seemed to realize the depth of his mistake. He raised his hand and Merlin mirrored it. A moment later, Fychan was the one to snap stiffly to attention. "Huh," Merlin cocked his head. "So that's how you do that."

"Release me!" Fychan demanded, fear causing his voice to crack.

Merlin gave a bitter laugh. "I don't have you. I just asked your magic to do what it does best: control you. Perhaps you should have thought that one through a bit more. Now, I will ask mine to do as it does best, and protect. Protect this child you've forced on me from whatever plans you have for it in the future."

With a clench of his fist, a stream of light coalesced from the sorcerer's chest and began stretching across the expanse to Merlin. Fychan began a low keening wail that increased as the light began to flow faster. When no more light emerged from the Druid, he dropped to his knees watching as the last shining bit of it disappeared into Merlin's stomach. "What have you done to me?" he whispered weakly.

"I suggested to your magic that it might find better use as protection for my child than as a playtoy to be manipulated by you. It came willingly." Merlin shrugged. "You should be proud. In a way, you're the magical godparent." With a slash of Merlin's hand, the bindings holding Arthur and the other Knights broke free. "I've taken my revenge. Now you can deal with Arthur's." He fell back, curling around his stomach, hiding his nudity and closed his eyes. 

He didn't see Arthur advance on the sorcerer with murder in his eyes. He didn't see him pass judgment. He didn't see him become the executioner. He didn't need to. He knew exactly what Arthur would do when he freed him. And as he drifted into darkness, if he perhaps smiles at the crack of a neck, who would blame him?


End file.
